


Banjou, Ryuuga, and Kazumin

by oneatatime



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Finale spoilers, M/M, includes canonical character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: It started with a potato, because of course it did.





	Banjou, Ryuuga, and Kazumin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borrowedphrases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/gifts).



It started with a potato, because of course it did. 

It was a nice enough potato. At least, that’s what Banjou figured. Decent size. Looked, uh, ripe. Must’ve fallen out of a bag when someone brought groceries back to Nascita. He yawned, tugging his sweatpants up as he crouched down to have a look. He often went out when he couldn’t sleep, but usually he found bad guys or trash, and one time he found a really good (empty) coffee can, just right for kicking all the way across the park to the recycling can on the far side. He usually didn’t find potatoes.

Kazumin liked potatoes, right? 

With a grin, he ducked back through the main door to Nascita, then picked his way through his sleeping friends, careful not to step on anyone’s outflung hand or foot. Banjou rummaged in the junk drawer behind the counter and found a couple googly eyes. A little brown wool for the hair, and then a pencil and his really cool art skills were enough to give it a goofy smile. 

He left it by Kazumin’s pillow, and flopped back down in his own little nest. 

He was kinda disappointed when there was no commentary about the potato the next morning. But he had to stifle a giggly scream – a geam? A scriggle? - that night when he rolled over and came face to face with a potato with three messy wool braids and one eye bigger than the other (rude). 

By unspoken agreement, neither of ‘em, well, spoke of it. But every few nights Banjou left an idiot potato friend for Kazumin, and every other few nights he’d find a potato in his pocket, or in his shoe, or with his hairbrush taped to it to make a little porcupine. His hair smelled like chips that day. 

One night it had a tiny note on it.

 _Help with breakfast._

Rude, again, but Banjou grinned. He got up extra early, not that he could sleep anyway, and went for a run in the pre-dawn light. Always took a little while to wake his muscles up, but there were so many of ‘em that was kinda inevitable. When he came back, already playing the latest update of Kwazy Kupcakes on his phone as he walked through the door, there was a potato farmer behind the counter. 

“Breakfast?” Banjou whispered brightly, aware that Sento and Gen-chan were still trying to sleep. It was always a difficult thing for any of ‘em. 

There was a look of affectionate mischief back. “Yeah. C’mere, Ryuuga.” 

And wasn’t that a hell of a thing. He didn’t mind being called Banjou. It was his name, after all! Anything that meant that people actually knew him, and he was safe, instead of having to be in disguise – though he’d kinda liked the pantomime horse costume – was pretty awesome. 

Except Ryuuga was his name, too, and Kazumin was the only one who used it.

Banjou finished the level, and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Like him, Kazumin was dressed for the day already, even though the sun was barely up. With him, that was probably a farmer thing. When he rounded the side of the counter and saw Kazumin from top to toe, he reflected on how the Pac-Man slippers were probably a Kazumin thing. 

“Didn’t know you could cook.”

Kazumin leaned close, and his breath tickled the delicate skin around Banjou’s ear, making him shiver deliciously. “I can only cook a couple things. Now wash your damn hands.” 

Banjou washed his damn hands, and cheerfully flicked water at Kazumin to show he’d done so. 

The things that he could cook, apparently, involved potatoes, and Banjou learned about this over the next couple weeks. They started doing meal duty together, again completely by not talking about it. Banjou just showed up when it was Kazumin’s turn, and Kazumin showed up when it was Banjou’s. It was good, having someone to not talk to now and then. It was nice to be able to talk when you had to, but being a silent pain in the ass with someone who enjoyed being a silent pain in the ass back was pretty cool. 

There were no potatoes in his stuff the first few nights, but on the fourth one there was a potato at the bottom of his blankets wearing a little paper chef’s hat. Banjou took it as a compliment. 

Banjou only knew how to wash potatoes and make them into chips. Kazumin, on the other hand, knew how to put together the most amazing little potato pancakes with sour cream and parsley. Kazumin knew how to make nikujaga broth with beef (and potatoes, naturally), and it was so good that even Sento - who lived on air and guilt - had two helpings of it. One day when they all went out for a picnic (until it was interrupted by a fight, of course), Kazumin got Banjou to help him make potato salad to take. And that was only a few of the things that Kazumin could make. He was pretty good!

The first time he was allowed to deep fry the korokke potato cakes all by himself, Banjou felt very proud. Like he’d graduated or something. 

When he’d fished the last one out and laid it on its plate, Kazumin was waiting for him with the big casserole dish. There was something deep in his eyes. Banjou furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what was going on. Kazumin carefully put the dish back on the stove top, and carefully took his hands out of the mismatched oven mitts, and carefully said, “ _Ryuuga_.” 

Then he not so carefully shoved Banjou back against the opposite counter, and inhaled the lower part of his face. 

As his hands came up to grip Kazumin’s dark yellow shirt at the lower back, the first thing Banjou thought was _crap, I’ll have to wash my hands again_ , but after that he was focusing too hard on kissing Kazumin back to give a damn. It was all so damn good. The scent of really nice food in the air. Kazumin’s muscles leaning on him (poor guy didn’t have as many muscles as Banjou, but no one did, and he was still hot). Kazumin’s tongue in his mouth, and the quiet needy sounds coming out of the other guy’s mouth. The softness of Kazumin’s hair through his fingers when he finally moved a hand. The way Kazumin was holding Banjou so gently, in pretty big contrast to the urgency of the way his body pressed against Banjou’s. 

They came up for air when Misora-chan said loudly from the doorway, “I knew it!” 

* * *

It wasn’t insulting that the others had made bets on how long it’d take the two of them to get their shit together.

What was amazingly insulting was the size of the ass on the Banjou AI sprite that Sento had designed for a simulation. 

“I mean, really,” Banjou protested, pointing at the display where Kazumin-sprite was thoroughly kissing Banjou-sprite, who had a dazed, blissed out expression on his face. “Look at the size of that! My ass is not that flat!” 

“No, that’s exactly how it looked,” Misora-chan said. 

Sawa’s face was a study in repressed laughter. Lips twitching, eyes twinkling. Which was insulting, because she was so good at undercover work and repressing her emotions! So this was just super amusing to her! 

He wasn’t stupid enough to argue with Misora-chan, but he gave Sawa a mournful look. 

* * * 

Then came the end of everything.

Kazumin – Kazumin died. Gen-chan, too. Banjou nearly went himself, then Sento barely managed to save them all. 

There was the occasional odd thing about the new world, not least of which was that some people remembered them, and some people didn’t. Banjou liked doing the grocery shopping by himself now and then, to bring back to their tiny apartment, while Sento worked. Usually when Banjou was working, Sento was working as well anyway. Someone had to do it. 

The first time he brought back potatoes, he sat on one of their mismatched wooden chairs the wrong way around, chin resting on his forearms on the back of it, and stared at the bag on the counter for a while. Wasn’t the same, was it. 

. . .That was kind of the point, wasn’t it. Keep going. _Because_ he can’t. Maybe Banjou would search for the Kazumin of this world one day. Maybe he wouldn’t. 

It was Banjou who stood up, to start on dinner before Sento came back.

It was Ryuuga who drew a face on a potato to put above the sink.


End file.
